Perchance to Dream
by Archaeologist
Summary: Merlin never does do well with fevers.


**Warnings:** none  
 **Author's Notes:** Trying to get through some of the Camelot_drabble prompts I'd not done before.  
 **Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chaotic swirls of blue and gold and scalding red, too fast to follow, in-and-out, in-and-out, playing hide-and-seek with the formless night. A worried voice, surely not Arthur's, was hunting the colours, calling for Merlin to follow him, but as he tried to rise, the bright letters of a royal command danced away.

It didn't matter. He couldn't leave. There was a giant hand pressing him down, keeping him there, with molten fingertips searing across his skin, and into his chest, and it was hot, so hot. He felt like he was drowning in flame.

But there was cold, too, almost as hot as ice, and he could feel the frigid rasp of linen across his face. As he opened his eyes, there was Arthur looking down at him, frantically mouthing something. Surely Arthur knew it was Merlin's day off. But Merlin was too weak to do more than mumble at him in protest, too weak to lift a hand to push the prat away. He just wanted to sleep, not have to chase after some idiot prince with entitlement issues.

There was more ice, and he shivered with winter's cold against his skin. He tried to struggle, moaning out a protest, but the cloth was insistent, and he couldn't get away from it. And its companion, cup, was forcing some foul liquid down his throat. And for a moment, he blamed Arthur for it. After all, the clotpole was a hunter. Why he didn't go and show his manly skills to drive away the colours, the cup and the cold, and leave Merlin alone?

There was swallowing and heat and more cold and Merlin's vision was clearing just a little, the colours retreating into eyes and gold hair and firelight. Arthur was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like insults and begging, but his hand was hot on Merlin's chest, holding him down, his other hand rubbing that awful freezing fabric across Merlin's skin. And that stupid prat face of his was wet, too, red-eyed, with worry chasing across Arthur's mouth.

"Leave off," Merlin rasped out. "Cabbage-head."

Arthur's face cleared, and he let out a vast sigh, then shouted for Gaius. But he didn't stop scrubbing the ice-cold cloth across Merlin's face. It was very annoying, much like the arse himself. "Don't fall back asleep, idiot. I've more medicine for you to take." And plopping that wretchedly cold linen onto Merlin's forehead, with his other hand, the clotpole shoved a cup into Merlin's mouth and made him swallow some fetid concoction that only Gaius could have made.

Merlin couldn't stop him. He was still weak as a new-born kitten, but after gulping down whatever sludge Arthur made him drink, coughing, trying to get the taste of dead things out of his mouth, he scowled up at the arse. "Ugh. What was that? Your mucky socks?"

"Well, I guess the worst is over if you can complain about my socks. Which, by the way, need to be cleaned. The laundry maids refuse to touch them." Arthur straightened up, smiling. "There's a very large pile of royal garments waiting just for you. It's time to stop being a girl's petticoat, Merlin, and attend to your prince."

Arthur reached out, taking the cloth off Merlin's head, dipping it into a bowl, wringing it out, and placing it back on Merlin's forehead. Merlin gave another shudder, trying to stop him, trying to shove the freezing thing aside, but Arthur caught his hand, shaking his head. "Leave it there, idiot."

"Mm… cold," Merlin mumbled.

"Yes, it is." Arthur sounded too smug, but he didn't move, just sat there, holding Merlin's hand in his own. "We almost lost you."

Merlin frowned up at him. It didn't make sense. "Not lost. Right here."

Giving a half-suppressed snort but not letting go, Arthur tugged at him a little. With his other hand, he moved the cloth on Merlin's forehead around, then flicked one finger right between Merlin's eyes. "Lost to the fever, _Mer_ lin. Try and keep up." Looking down at Merlin, Arthur frowned, saying, "It was a near thing."

It must have been the fever because Arthur seemed almost sad about it. But that couldn't be right. Still, Merlin couldn't let it pass. "Can't get rid of me… so easily."

Arthur's mouth did something funny, first twisting as if tasting something foul, then grinning. His eyes, cloudy with worry, lightened, too. Amusement seeped in as he said, "You're like a limpet, impossible to remove."

Tired, still struggling not to fall back asleep, Merlin couldn't really think of a good reply. "At least I'm not a bone-idle… toad."

"Now I know you are better." As Gaius came into the room, Arthur let Merlin's hand go and stood up. "Ah, Gaius, he's resorted to insults, not very creative ones I will have you know, but I'm sure in a few days, he'll be up to his usual insolent self."

"Indeed." Gaius sounded amused, but his eyebrows were scrunched up, a clear sign of worry. "The king has asked for you, Sire. Something about returning to your duties?"

"My father…," Arthur huffed, then turned back to Merlin. "Duty calls. I expect you back to work once you are better and not a moment before."

"I have a day off?" Merlin couldn't believe it. Arthur never gave him a day off.

For a moment, Arthur's face softened, then he seemed to shrug it off. Scowling down at Merlin, he said, "Consider it your one and only chance. There are stables and laundry in your future so enjoy the respite while you can." Then he turned to Gaius. "Not a moment before he's better. Am I clear, Gaius?"

"As crystal, Sire." And with that, Arthur turned, gave Merlin one last worried look, then sped away and out the door.

Gaius stood there, watching Arthur leave, then he sat next to Merlin and said, "He's been here for days."

"But… that doesn't make sense. I'm just a servant and he's… not."

"Merlin, your intellect astonishes me." Gaius reached over and flicked a finger between Merlin's eyes, just like Arthur had done. Then tutting, he rewet the cloth and put it back onto Merlin's forehead. At least this time, it felt cool and comforting. "Next time, try not to almost die of fever. An old man's heart can't take such worry. Or a young man's, too."

"Arthur?"

"Arthur indeed. Now are you up to broth and a bit of bread?" When Merlin nodded, Gaius said, "I have some warming over the fire." He gave Merlin a little smile, then patted his hand, stood up and walked out the door.

He couldn't process it. Dreams filled with worry and colour and heat, with Arthur's hand holding him down, with Arthur's voice calling him to follow him out of the depths of hell. But now, that he was feeling clearer-headed, it didn't seem so absurd after all.

Arthur had always been his world. In dreams and in the light of day, from the moment they first insulted each other. And Merlin wouldn't want it any other way.

The end


End file.
